Assorted Oneshots
by Hardly Here
Summary: Assorted Oneshots: Where I keep all my oneshot requests/trades. Most involve CM Punk. All are slash. Newest: ChipMUNK for KimberAnnBRAND
1. Only Talking Sense: PunkTaker

_Some stuff I randomly think of that doesn't really fit in anywhere else. This one is for Browngirlwrites, cos she's awesome ^_^. And cos I feel bad about mean undertaker in my other fic._

**Mark**

**(Only Talking Sense)**

_There's a mirror lake before me but I'm frozen when it's time to jump  
It's like maybe I'm afraid of what I'll find when independence comes_

_  
_Matt was used to comforting people. His baby brother, for instance. It wasn't a surprise he was the first one Phil came to; in fact he'd been waiting for it. After the few unbelievably happy weeks which followed the start of a new relationship, Phil had begun to turn up to work late; he was becoming quiet and unresponsive, and it was affecting his work in the ring. Everyone knew he was having issues with Mark, but no-one could guess what.

It wasn't that Mark didn't love him. In fact, he cherished and adored Phil more than anything else in his life. However, what caused Phil's distress was something that on the surface seemed awfully superficial for such a loving relationship. It was the simple fact that Mark's appetites in bed were far too much for the smaller man to handle. The notion that Mark might one day tire of him haunted him constantly, but he was splintering under the weight of the other man's demands, and Matt feared what might happen when he broke.

Phil was in his room again, sore and worn out. He'd fallen asleep sitting on the couch, and his head rested at an odd angle on the back of the couch. Matt was torn between waking him up to save him a sore neck, or leaving him to get some much-needed rest. It ended up that Mark was the one who would make the decision, as Phil's phone went off. He jerked awake immediately, one hand going to his neck, wincing.

"Hello, Mark?" His voice was husky with sleep, barely a whisper.

"Are you alright there, Phil?"

"Y-yes. I'm fine."

"Oh good. I was wondering where you'd run off to."

"Just saying hi to Matt."

"Ah. I've got something here in my room that I think you might like to say hi to."

Phil groaned on the inside.

"Mark..."

"What? Don't you want to spend a little... quality time together?"

"Yes." Wow, he sounded awkward.

"Wonderful, I'll see you in a few minutes?"

"Yep."

Phil tossed the phone aside and flopped on his side, sighing. Matt came over and allowed him to rest his head on his lap.

"Dude, you need to talk to him. You can keep going like this."

"So you keep telling me."

"I'll talk to him if you want me to."

"Ugh, no. I just... I'll give it more time."

Matt pulled Phil into a sitting position, shaking him by the shoulders. He chuckled when the tired ravenette allowed his head to loll around comically, and grabbed his chin to hold him still.

"You've given it enough time. If he really loves you he'll understand."

_***_

_There are times when I'm tied up to the fence  
Only talking sense_

Phil entered their shared hotel room cautiously, and Mark jumped up and went to embrace his lover, but instead held him at arm's length, studying him carefully.

"Phil... Is there something wrong?"

Indeed he didn't look at all well – he was certainly paler, thinner... and there were dark smudges under his eyes which he hadn't seen before.

"You don't look well,"

"I can't-" Phil suddenly found that he couldn't speak without tears stinging at his eyes. Instead he looked at the floor, face flushing slightly. He had gone through exactly what he would say with Matt – why was it so hard?

"Hey, look at me." Mark lifted Phil's chin, and was shocked to see the man's lower lip trembling, tears threatening to fall.

"I've never seen you like this before, what's going on?"

"Of-f course you've never seen me like this before," Phil stuttered, the tears beginning to leak out. "You're too busy fucking me to look at my face anyway."

Mark released him and backed away, horrified. Phil averted his eyes again, shoulders still shaking with the effort of his quiet sobs.

"I didn't mean... I'm sorry..." he whispered. "Mark, I don't know what to do."

Mark exhaled roughly, and plopped down on the bed. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, taking a few moments to compose himself.

"Phil. Tell me this straight. What is bothering you?"

"I – I can't do this."

Mark suddenly looked very old. He sighed, staring at his lover. He rested his chin dejectedly on his hands, hunched over.

"_What_ can't you do?"

"This. I can't... do this with you every night. I mean, you're a big guy, and you've got, you know, experience and everything and, well, would it hurt to just sorta sleep together once in a while without actually sleeping together?"

Silence fell between them, and Phil's heart raced as he waited for the answer that would mean either relief or heartache.

"Phil, are you telling me that you don't want to have so much sex?"

He nodded timidly, blushing furiously once more.

There was silence for a few more moments, but Mark broke it with a chuckle. Phil looked at him curiously as he began to laugh harder, pulling the smaller man gently into his lap.

"Darl, all you had to do was _say_ so!" He placed a finger lightly on Phil's nose, causing him to wrinkle it and giggle.

"I was scared you wouldn't want me anymore..."

"Silly rabbit," He just held Phil then – the precious little creature that was perhaps more fragile than he would let on. He would have to remember to be gentler with this one in the future.

**Merry Christmas!**


	2. Only Talking Sense Part 2: PunkJeff

Here's a strange one. If you understand the meaning of it, congratulations.

**Jeff**

**(Only Talking Sense)**

_There's a wild thing in the woolshed and it's keeping me awake at night._

Jeff had never liked specifics. It drove Phil mad, but he took a strange enjoyment in finding the truth of a situation in the mood of it. In a way, he found his wild, colourful paintings held more truth than anything Phil could write in his little diary.

So when Phil ran into him room one night, frightened of the noises he had heard, he silently held his lover, rocking back and forth with the other man in his arms.

"It could have been a mouse."

Jeff nodded, "That's probably it."

"I know monsters don't exist, but it sounded... strange. It can't have been a mouse."

"Then it wasn't a mouse."

"What _was _it then?"

"A monster."

Phil stiffened in his embrace, and wriggled out to sit facing him on the bed.

"It's not funny-" he shivered, "I was really scared."

"I wasn't joking..."

"You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?"

_He is religion, he won't hear me when I cry for help  
_People often wondered why the two of them had separate rooms even though they were a couple. Phil would smirk and remark that it didn't mean less sex, it just meant they had two venues, plus the kitchen floor.

But in all honesty, it was what kept them together. As much as they loved each other, they both worked in the same place, owned the same house together; it was only human to need some privacy, some alone time. Phil liked a simple room, muted colours, and reading a little before going to bed at a decent hour. Jeff liked his room bright, decorated with his various paintings. He liked staying up and playing music.

That didn't really matter at the moment, though. Phil was curled up on the couch, trying to preserve as much heat as he could. The house was freezing at night, but he was too scared to go back into his room, too proud to go apologise to Jeff. He just didn't understand the man sometimes. He was so...

"Sorry."

Phil twisted his head, which was lying on the arm of the couch to look at Jeff.

"Me too." He whispered, and allowed the other man to come and sit next to him. He lay his head on Jeff's shoulder and sighed, relaxing into his warmth.

"I just don't understand you sometimes." He murmured.

Jeff stroked Phil's hair absently, thinking.

"I just... I think that if you think it's a monster, then it is. You know? And it's going to be a monster until you think otherwise."

_He has a vision of me, but I am somebody else _

They found a dead mouse under Phil's bed the next day.

"You see, _now_ it's a mouse."

"But it was a mouse all along!"

"Not to you."

_  
Lonely when we talk _

_And your child is messed up in the head  
I'm only talking sense_

**Only Talking Sense – The Finn Brothers (Do not own, nor do I own de characters)**


	3. The Morning: chipMUNK

**Part of the great chipMUNK Fic Exchange by the lovely KimberAnnBRAND, she's the shizz, believe me... and here's my attempt to reciprocate. Hope it's good enough ^_^" I've never even **_**thought **_**about writing Matt before!**

**As always, don't own.**

**(dammit I get so anxious when I'm writing for someone else)**

*******

_Silence, my love. The morning is wiser than the evening._

Matt drove angrily, the events of his match that day replaying over and over in his mind, reminding him of the horrible day. He'd turned up to work that day feeling like utter shit. Just one of those days. He'd tried to suck it up for the fans but nevertheless Phil had had to more or less carry him through the whole match, improvising and making up for all his mistakes. It seemed the more he tried to tell himself to concentrate, the more he seemed to slip or miss his target.

The worst part was the fact that the match was against _Phil_. He felt like a blushing teenager whenever he was around the guy, and screwing up so badly made him just want to melt and dribble away through the cracks in the linoleum. He had wanted to find Phil afterwards, apologise for his dismal performance – not that they spoke that much in the first place but like all humans who mess up he craved someone's approval, wanted someone to tell him everything was alright.

He turned the corner, and his headlights illuminated the black clad figure trudging down the street a few metres ahead of him. He looked thoroughly worn out; his slender form slumped under the weight of his kit bag. Night had fallen, and he didn't like the idea of the tired man walking back to their hotel in the dark.

"Phil!" Matt rolled down his window, causing the other man to look up curiously, shaking his head to get the strands of hair out of his face.

"Oh, hey Matt."

"Haven't you got a car?"

Phil did have a car. Him and Taker were sharing. Unfortunately, a rather unfortunate turn of events earlier had left him stranded.

"Nope." He replied gruffly, turning away.

"Want a ride?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

Phil clambered in eagerly, depositing his bag in the back seat and settling in with a sigh. Close up, Matt found that he looked more exhausted than he thought; and his eyes betrayed a deep sadness. That, or he could just be romanticising. He was probably just creating reasons for him to hug the other man to bits.

"Sorry about the match today."

Phil waved a hand wearily, "Don't worry about it, happens to everyone. Lucky you had me there to help." He smirked and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

Matt felt an odd warmth spread through his chest. He'd never been this close to Phil before, and it was... intoxicating. He felt like he had felt the first time his crush had said yes to a date. He giggled at the memory, causing Phil to crack open one eye.

"What?"

"Oh, yeah. When I was a kid, I was totally in love with this girl. Sally. She wasn't exactly the hottest thing ever – she was really into basketball, and she was tall... and kinda flat chested."

Phil snorted in amusement and Matt continued. "Anyway, I thought she was great. I brought her home for tea one time. Jeff took one look at her and blurted out 'holy shit Matty, she looks like a man!'" Matt giggled, "I mean, we were a bit drunk."

_Oh shit I just mentioned alcohol he's going to hate me._

Phil laughed and shook his head, "So that's how you found out you were into guys?"

Matt grinned. "Sure was. How 'bout you? Remember your first girl?"

There was hesitation there, and Phil was silent for a few moments.

"What, didn't work out or something?"

"She, uh, was into some kinky shit."

"Oh wow. How old were you?"

"Don't remember."

"I mean, you don't have to say if you don't want..."

"She tied me to the bed and stuck the champagne bottle down my throat so I nearly drowned."

Silence.

"I, uh, I'm sorry Phil – I didn't mean -"

"S'fine. Anyway, she said I must've been gay not to enjoy her company. Turns out she was right. About the gay part, anyway."

Matt decided he'd change the subject,

_God, what a stupid way to start a conversation don't you know how to socialise properly with people_

"So, why don't you have a car?"

"Oh, I was riding with Mark."

No further explanation was necessary; Phil was pretty sure the entire roster had heard the two of them screaming at each other. It had been a stupid argument, and Phil would have given in and apologised... if Taker hadn't slipped vodka into his water bottle as payback. Why couldn't people just leave him alone?

"But he's just so immature... I don't mind people drinking, why can't they accept me not making the same choice?"

"Why? What'd he do?"

So Matt hadn't heard. Whoops.

"He just... Matt, before I tell you, just realise I'm not trying to sound like some whiny bitch looking for sympathy..."

"No!"

Phil looked at him inquiringly, and Matt checked himself.

"I mean, I don't think you're whiny..."

_I think you're perfect_

"It just, you know, seems like you might feel better if you tell someone."

"Thanks. We just haven't been working out." Phil seemed hesitant "Just, sort of... Outside the bedroom, it seems like we're always arguing. He keeps using all my stuff and losing it."

Matt chuckled and nodded. Living with Jeff, he knew exactly what that was like. His reaction seemed to hearten Phil and he continued.

"We've been thinking of breaking it off for a while now, but, you know, not a great time. Well anyway, we weren't talking in the car all the way to work, and then he... he put vodka in my water bottle. Kinda to get back at me."

Matt nodded again, this time more slowly. He'd seen all the times people had tried to get Phil to drink alcohol just for kicks. It infuriated him more than he could say. Phil let out a shaky breath nd continued

"We started yelling, and then out of the blue, he just... he hit me, Matt. And he grabbed the broom handle off the cleaners, and he – he – Oh god, stop the car, I'm so sorry, stop, please..."

Matt slammed on the brakes and Phil opened the door, tumbling out onto the sidewalk, gasping for air. For one terrible moment, his stomach heaved and it seemed like he would throw up. Hut instead he let out a soft sigh and slithered to the ground, coming to rest on the cool concrete.

"Sorry, I'm sorry – so sorry..." he stammered quietly

"It's fine, just relax."

Matt hovered near him, his hand ghosting over Phil's back, not quite daring to touch him. Phil closed the gap involuntarily as he shifted slightly, still breathing heavily. He let out a small note of gratefulness when the hand made contact, and Matt instinctively began rubbing light circles into his back. He felt rather than heard the breath leave him, and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You're doing it," Breathed Phil, "Thanks."

"S'fine... c'mere." Matt slipped one hand under the other man's waist and drew him closer. Phil leaned into his side, and they both relaxed. They lost track of time in each other's embrace, just talking comfortably with each other all through the night. The sun was beginning to rise by the time Phil wriggled into a proper sitting position, turning to face his new friend. Matt decided to take a chance

"Phil, I think we should spend more time together in the future."

Matt leaned forward, and again Phil closed the gap between them. They seemed to work well together like that. Their lips explored each other for a while, Matt especially entranced by the lip piercing, when Phil pulled away suddenly.

"I think that's a great idea," He agreed, then leaned forward again, both of them leaving all the worries of the previous night behind them.

**Merry Christmas, KimberAnn :)**


	4. Monster: JeriPunk

**A request from Browngirlwrites. First time I've ever written Jericho ^_^**

**If you want to request anything, feel free!**

Another one gone. And this time, Chris had figured out the reason.

It had always been easier for him to be with someone below him than someone above him. His ego, he mused, prevented him from submitting to anyone. It was a terrible realisation, one that would be forever imprinted in his mind coupled with the image of Big Show slamming the door in his face.

"I'm a monster." He said aloud, addressing no-one in particular, and began to weep silently in the empty locker room. Everyone always walked out on him in the end. Because, in a way... he needed to be needed. And once they figured that out, it gave them power. It lessened his. And they would walk out.

It was no better with people above him.

Shawn Michaels – what a man. Jericho secretly worshipped his every move, treasured every worth that was spoken between them, exaggerated his injuries when the other man was near in the hape that he would be given some attention. But Shawn never paid him any attention.

This had angered Jericho, and he had coldly ignored Shawn for weeks, like an irate girlfriend. What angered him even more was the fact that Shawn _didn't even notice._

The door slammed open, and a breathless CM Punk burst in looking around wildly.

"Have you seen Jeff?"

"Fuck off."

Phil lowered his eyes and blushed.

"Sorry... if I was disturbing anything..."

"S'fine," Chris waved the apology away airily.

There it was again. That feeling of empowerment that made the weaker so endearing to him.

Jericho's hatred for this part of himself swelled, and he screamed at Punk in his head to just leave him alone.

Phil chuckled.

"I knew the shy face'd work on you. You're so predictable."

_Huh?_

"You little Punk." But Phil was out of there, racing down the corridor.

In seconds, Chris was after him, chasing him to the end of the corridor and out oto the parking lot. There Phil stopped, panting slightly but grinning. Chris slapped that grin right off his face.

"You little assclown. I'm going to beat you up so bad – _what the hell can you be so happy about?_"

Phil was smiling again, the expression seeming to burst forth from his very soul.

"I, well – I..."

"I-I-I-WHAT?"

"I've been trying to get your attention for ages and it finally worked!"

Chris's mouth fell open in surprise.

Now that they were still, Phil looked at him curiously.

"Chris... have you been crying?"

All the poisonous thoughts from the past few minutes flooded back into his mind, and he shook his head silently, not trusting himself to speak.

"What's wrong?"

"N-none of your-" Chris bit his lip and turned away, taking beep dreaths.

'Hey." Phil put his hand on the other man's shoulder, spinning him back around, and found that he _was _ crying.

Chris told him. Told him everything – about Big Show, Adam, Matt, and with slight relucatance, about Shawn Michaels.

At the end of it, Phil hugged him wordlessly. He just wanted to make Chris feel warm and dafe for now.

"You do realise that I was doing the exact same thing with you, just then."

"Great minds," sniffed Chris.

"So you're not pathetic. You're... human. I think-"

Jericho turned away, but Phil cupped his chin gently.

"I think what you need is someone who's on the same level."

"Like _who?_ Name someone that's a cocky asshole who... vies for attention like a crazy thirteen year old girl!"

"Uh, me?"

Chris jerked back from Phil's hand, and glared at him.

"I don't need your sympathy, assclown." He hissed.

Phil looked hurt, "Weren't you listening? I only came into your locker room because I wanted your attention. Because I like you."

And they were back to staring at each other.

But this time there was something more – they were gazing into each others' eyes, exploring the depths of emotions that they held. They moved simultaneously, and their lips met.

It was strange how their instincts synchronised, bother tentative and curious, not yet driven by passion or lust, but by the mutual connection that they had discovered.

"I could get used to you," breathed Phil, allowing his eyes to flutter closed as their foreheads touched and they leaned into one another.

Chris pulled away for a second, looking the other man in the eye.

"Am I a monster?"

"Define monster."

"Well, i'd say it's a mmmphgh-"

Phil's lips claimed his again by way of an answer, and it was one Chris was more than willing to accept.


	5. At The End Of The Day: Bourton

**Note: I know shit all about American geography save the location of various states and interesting places. I have no idea whether you can ride for an hour and end up in the middle of nowhere. But you can in Australia.**

**For Bourtonfreak13**

A vast, wide expanse of nothing stretched before them: two small figures perched atop a whirring motorcycle. The sun was beginning to set, drenching them in its amber light. Despite the roar of the engine, Randy had never felt so serene. He sped up a little, smiling to himself when Evan's arms tightened instinctively around his waist.

_Evan pulls on his runners and slings his bag over his shoulder, preparing to walk back to the hotel. Jack and a few of his other mates were going out for a drink after the show, but Evan just wanted to go back to the hotel and read for a while. Luckily it was only about a twenty minute walk away, and it wasn't too cold._

_He passes Randy, who is unchaining his Bike, and he hesitates for a moment, admiring the way Randy's lithe form fits into his leather jacket. The taller man seems to feel the stare, because he turns around, gray eyes pinning Evan where he stands. For one terrible moment, he is terrified of the gaze, but then the edges of his eyes crinkle into a warm smile._

"_Want a ride?"_

_Evan's heart begins to thump so loud he is sure the other man can hear it._

"_Well, I was – uh, I mean I've got, um..."_

_Randy raises an eyebrow in amusement._

"_...I mean yes. Please."_

_A helmet is shoved onto his head, and before he realises what he has agreed to, he has his hands wrapped around his slander waist, around __Randy Orton's__ waist. _

Somewhere on the way back, Randy had decided no, they were not going to go back to the hotel, they were going wherever his fancy took him. Evan had protested the first mile or so, because of the fact that there was only one helmet, and he was wearing it. But then again, that was Randy – a little crazy, a little dangerous; that's what Evan adored about him.

He regretted that thought immediately when Randy suddenly slammed on the brakes, grinding the bike to a halt in a cloud of dust. He chuckeld as Evan tightened his hold again and buried his head in his shoulder. He was still clinging on when the dust settled, and Randy had to gently pry his hands away so he could get off.

"Enjoy that?"

He felt a slight pang of regret when Evan let go, but nevertheless swung easily off the bike, unzipping his jacket and rolling his neck.

Evan followed suit, or rather, he tried to. He toppled clumsily off his seat, crashing to the road on unsteady feet. He was so adorable like that, thought Randy as he helped the smaller man up.

All he could think about as he set the bike on its stand was the way they fit together so effortlessly, and what it would have felt like if Evan hadn't been wearing that stupid helmet...

Which he still was.

Randy laughed and pulled the damn thing off, placing the tip of his finger affectionately on Evan's nose.

"Silly." He admonished, and grinned when the smaller man blushed and looked away.

"Wow." Evan was looking past his shoulder, and Randy turned to see what he was looking at. His breath caught as he observed the last few dregs of sunlight simmering away on the horizon, giving a pinkish-red cast to the clouds, the honey coloured rays giving Evan's skin an unearthly glow.

His arms moved of its own accord, and snaked around Evan's shoulder, drawing him close again, There was no resistance; they melded together easily.

"Randy," Whispered Evan, "Are we going to go back sometime?"

Randy looked down at the pair of wide innocent eyes looking up at him, and smiled mischievously.

"I don't think anybody's going to miss us, not for the moment, anyway."

"Perfect." Evan nuzzled further into Randy's chest and sighed. The golden light was fading away to gray; the sun leaving the two of them together alone. Regardless of the massive, open space that they were in, they really could not have picked a more intimate location. It was just Randy, Evan, and the bike, and they both prayed silently that it would stay that way.

**Hooooookay. So, I just got a request for Cena/Punk. This is going to f-ing hilarious (Cos I f-ing hate Cena), but I've done a request involving him before, and I can do it again! **


	6. Together Alone: PunkerTaker

**Well, PhilMuse has had a brief holiday, but it's back to PunkerTaker for Browngirlwrites :)**

**(Even if the poor thing is a bit tired. At least he gets cuddles.)**

*******

Mark sat by the fireplace, the glowing tongues of flame the only source of illuminations in the brooding shadows. Phil should be home by now. The little man was going to get a rough talking to tonight, that was for sure.

Phil, similarly was wrapped in the darkness of the night, and in the ashy hues of storm clouds, which burst forth and pelted him mercilessly with rain. He lay in a puddle, not caring about the water soaking him to the skin, or the mud which clung to his sodden hair. The air was cold, and helped the ease the aches from his match earlier. The rain washed away the sweat and grime from earlier.

They both loved the smell of rain. They liked to sit on the windowsill sometimes and just watch it fall, Phil warm and safe in the arms of his lover.

It was a liberating feeling, lying in the muddy grass all alone. Phil felt free to open himself to the frank indifference of the vast skies, and allow himself to weep without restraint with a brutal rawness of emotion that would not be possible were anyone present. He bared his soul to the heavens with hoarse cries of anguish, and was safe in the knowledge that he would not be judged.

***

_**Earlier that day**_

_Phil packs his bag quickly, wanting to get home to Mark as fast as he possibly can. There are storms forecast for tonight, and he smiles as he imagines himself enveloped in Mark's huge arms, watching the rain from their top window. A shuffling behind him interrupts his thoughts, and he turns to meet the intruder, and is faced with the intimidating features of Triple H._

"_Hello, Philly."_

"_Hi Hunter. W-what do you want?"_

_He didn't mean to sound so awkward, but the larger man chuckled menacingly._

"_Well, since you asked, little Philly, I want your little Punk ass."_

"_And what would you possibly want with my little Punk ass?" Asks Phil mildly, trying his best to look confident._

"_Well, again since you asked, I want this."_

_Hunter moves swiftly, kneeing Phil in the ribs then kicking him in the head. Once he is down, Phil feels his jeans being pulled down._

_**No please oh god don't touch me shit oh shit**_

"_Go tell your boyfriend if he messes with my Shawn again, he's going to find that each time, I hit back ten times harder."_

_***_

Something was not right. Phil should have been home by now, and there was a strange twinge in his chest that told him something was terribly wrong with Phil. It was already bucketing down outside, and Mark feared that Phil might be caught out in the torrent, shivering, wet and cold.

It was lucky that he drove down that street, because he noticed the little black-clad figure lying in the vacant lot near the end, and when he opened the door the wind carried the sound of his lover's wretched cries.

There he was, lying in the accumulating water with his hair splayed about his head like a dark halo. He stopped his weeping when Taker arrived, biting his lip and struggling upright. He murmured an incoherent apology before his legs gave way and he pitched forward into Mark's arms, limp and shivering. Mark scooped him up gently and drove him back.

Phil didn't look at Mark the whole time the older man undressed him, towelled him dry, washed the mud from his hair, made him a mug of tea and carried him to bed. Mark went about his ministrations in silence, waiting until the precious man was ready to talk.

After he had drawn the covers up to Phil's chest, he sat down heavily next to him and looked down at the smaller, still-trembling man.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Phil hesitated, and then it all came out in a stammered flood. How Hunter had cornered him. Hit him. Violated him... in the worst way possible. Mark listened with growing shock, until he could hear no more. He couldn't speak for the rage bubbling away inside him, and instead growled possessively.

"Mark, please. Don't... don't do anything back."

"Michaels _started_ this, the little fucker,"

"I know he did, but Mark, please..." Phil wriggled closer, laying his head on Mark's lap, "No-one deserves this. Not even Shawn."

Mark sighed and began to stroke Phil's soft, jet black hair. Even after all the time they had been together, it still fascinated him. He was entirely infatuated with Phil, every part of him, and he looked so scared and fragile, it stirred a fury within him he didn't know existed.

"I want to kill him," He said honestly.

"Mark, please..." Phil crawled out from under the covers and curled up in Mark's arms, "Please go to Vince... Let the law sort it out... I don't want to lose you. If you get caught, I – I don't know what I'd do."

"You need me, huh?"

"Yes," breathed Phil, "Yes I do."

Outside, the rain pattered away still, drumming away in a dull, lifeless monotone. It told them the only warmth and life they could have was in each others' arms.

**Aaaaand we have a Cena/Punk left to go.**

**PhilMuse: But not today. I'm tired. Goodnight.**

**Well, he said it.**


	7. I Know Him So Well: CenaPunk

**Hope you all had a good new years!**

**Cena/Punk for 'Behind the lies.'**

*******

Jeff was an angry drunk. Phil still had scars from all those years ago, when the other man had come home smashed out of his brain and sent Phil through the glass door. That had been the last time he'd come home to Phil.

Mark just got disoriented, and while it was funny the first time to see the hulking figure of the deadman walk unsteadily into the wall, Phil quickly grew sick of nearly being crushed under his weight every time he staggered back from a night out.

Matt had been a funny drunk. One time, he had insisted that he and Phil go up to the balcony and spray tan each other at two in the morning. Vince had not been amused.

And now, here he was waiting for Cena. He didn't know why he bothered, really, but there was a small part of him that hoped in vain that one day something would change.

The sun was setting, and Phil continued to wish, that John would come back and sit with him on the lonely porch, that they could share the blanket he was wrapped in. He wanted someone warm and living to share the night with. John had promised he would be home early, but from past experienced Phil knew such promises were hollow.

He vowed that if it didn't work out, Cena would be the last. But for now, he would wait.

As he thought more about his predicament, the memories floated into his mind's eye unheeded. He had waited for the others in the same manner, too – even when he was tired and worn out from the day's work and all he wanted to do was sleep.

Jeff had laughed in his face when he did that.

Mark had been confused.

Matt had shouted something about being chased by Vince's accountant and attempted to burrow into his blanket.

What was Cena going to do? Phil had been telling himself constantly that he was going to be different, but the strains of reminiscence going through his brain were forcing a terrible realisation onto him.

Cena had gone out and left him alone. Not that Phil didn't like going out – he liked to celebrate and have fun, but when he knew the purpose of the night was to go out and drink, he politely declined.

Ten thirty.

Phil let his head fall forward, his shoulders beginning to shudder as he wept quietly into his blanket. In his experience, the superstars seldom came back before midnight – well, shit. He was seriously contemplating forgetting Cena and heading back in when a car horn nearly made him jump out of his skin. The door opened and Cena hopped out lightly, laughing hysterically and doing something with his phone.

_Funny drunk, then._ Thought Phil bitterly.

Anger began to swell inside his chest; Cena wasn't any different to any of those other assholes who had hurt him so badly in the past. Hot tears pricked at his eyes, and Phil looked pointedly away from his lover, drawing the blanket more tightly around his thin form.

"Phil? Hell, were you waiting up for _me?_" Cena placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to give the smaller man a kiss, but his lips crashed into Phil's ear when he turned away.

"Go away," said Phil softly. "I don't want to taste whatever shit you've been drinking all-"

Phil's sentence was cut off by a pair of lips crashing determinedly into his own. His eyes widened a little as he tasted an unexpected sweetness.

"Pepsi?"

John pulled the bottle from his side pocket, grinning.

"Thought I'd give it a go, since you like it so much. Orton gave me hell for it, though." He winked.

"John..." Phil almost jumped on him, wrapping his arms around the other man's broad shoulders in delight and kissed him childishly all over his face. John laughed and picked him up easily, kicking the door open and carrying him in to their bedroom.


	8. Angel's Heap: OrtonPunk

**This one's for my lil' buddy xxAreeshaxx**

**Happy birthday (for Thursday)! You totally rock and I hope you have an awesome day!**

**Requests are closed for the moment, since the fulfilment of this one totally exhausted PhilMuse. He's over there, sleeping. Poor tired thing.**

**(You'll know when they re-open when I update this fic)**

*******

_**If I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know.**_

Phil's ragged gasps tore through the deadened night, the pounding of his feet leaving no doubt to his pursuers as to where he was.

_Well shit _he thought, _If you weren't such a fucking coward you wouldn't be in this situation._

_***_

Phil couldn't help but be slightly frightened of Randy Orton. He felt a strange sense of danger whenever he was near the man. It was something about his gaze, the icy gray eyes that pierced through to his very soul. It felt as though his soul was being assessed.

Sometimes, he would get angry. Ted and Cody always took it in their stride, but Phil still hadn't figured out what would set him off. Sometimes when he was angry he'd do stupid things, like the time he sent his fist through the locker room door. Or the time he had thrown a chair across the room and nearly hit an unsuspecting Matt Hardy. For some reason, Evan had found it the most hilarious thing in the world.

Today was a good day, though. Out of the blue, Randy had asked Phil to join him and his Legacy mates out for dinner. They were sitting in the locker room, waiting for Ted and Cody to finish getting dressed so they could leave. Somehow friendly banter had turned into an absurd exchange where they took turns asking each other stupid questions.

"Randy, what _do _the voices say?" asked Phil.

Cody suddenly started singing the chorus to Carry on Wayward Son – he was surprisingly good, too. His voice climbed easily through the higher notes, and when he finished Ted came in with the guitar solo, landing on his knees in front of Randy and gyrating ridiculously with his imaginary instrument. Randy laughed and pushed him over.

"We're leaving now."

Phil snatched up his belongings quickly, not wanting to keep Randy waiting. He realised when they walked out that he had left his soap and shampoo behind, but just let it go. It was stupid, but he didn't want to annoy Randy.

The problem was, despite his fear of Randy, he secretly loved him. It was something about the mystery of the man, and the strange alluring danger the man seemed to exude.

It was a strange feeling, one that made him hypersensitive to every signal the Legacy member expressed, every emotion, every gesture.

It made dinner an awkward affair, because in Phil's mind, he was the irksome tagalong who wasn't really wanted. He was unusually quiet as he picked at his pasta, so much so that Randy began to notice.

"What's got you so quiet all of a sudden?" he teased, "Is it the nasty Undertaker going after your championship?"

_Oh look, now you've ruined his fun for the night too. Good one Philip._

"N-no... well, kind of, but I just – I'll go if you want, I'm sorry..."

_Oh yes fantastic, now he thinks you're some shy little kid._

"What? Phil, there's a _reason_ we invited you to come, and it's because we _wanted_ you to come out with us."

Phil blushed and nodded, returning to his pasta.

"Randy, do it!" whispered Ted, and Cody began to giggle uncontrollably. Randy's angry stare would have brought any other man to his knees, but those two were far too accustomed to their friend's mannerisms to care too much.

"We're eating," he hissed back.

"You said you would!" whispered Cody, still giggling like a little girl.

The three of them looked at Phil, who was trying desperately to look interested in his pasta sauce.

"Phil." Randy reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder and ran it gently across his collarbone and up his neck, tilting his chin upwards so their gazes met.

"I've been meaning to ask you for a little while now..."

"Just _say _it!" gasped Cody

"You're so beautiful..." He moved his hand over to caress the black strands of hair that covered Phil's cheek, "Would you - go out with me?"

There was an odd ringing in his ears, he could barely believe what he had just heard.

_Maybe I heard him wrong?_

"With me?"

"Yes."

Yes!

Something stirred inside Phil, and he leaned forward and kissed Randy hard on the lips. Randy reached forward to bring them closer together, but then Phil was out the door and down the street, knocking their dinner from the table in an instant.

_Oh my god he's going to hate me._

_***_

And here he was now, still running. He had no idea how long he'd been going for, but the buzz of bicycle wheels told him his pursuers weren't giving up. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this pace up for; his breath was tearing through his lungs, which were beginning to hurt. Not a good sign.

_**A few minutes ago**_

_Phil dashes out of the restaurant, the strange ringing sound not leaving his ears. It's quickly replaced by jeers and wolf whistles from the direction of the parking lot._

"_Hey, queer!"_

_The speaker is a young man, younger than he looks, probably. He has a cigarette between his lips, and Phil wrinkles his nose slightly out of habit, but keeps walking. There are about five of them, all watching intently._

"_Turn around when I'm fucking speaking to you, you fag!"_

_Phil's eyes dart towards the man briefly, but for long enough to catch the glint of moonlight off cold steel._

_Well, shit._

"_Saw you snogging your boy through the window there! Why don't you come give us a kiss, then?"_

_Phil still did not answer, and didn't pick up his pace, not wanting to ignite the thrill of a chase in the men. But too late for that, they were on their bikes, whooping like madmen. _

"_Run, faggot!" screamed the leader, and Phil didn't have to be told twice._

_***_

Suddenly, they were all illuminated by a strange light coming from behind them.

_Guardian Angel_

The thought crossed Phil's mind briefly before it was driven out by a long, loud car horn.

Later, Phil would still have no idea how he did it, but Randy was suddenly in front of them, snarling at the gang. Then one of them found themselves flying down an alleyway, and the rest of them ran for it. Phil stood there in shock, swaying gently until his legs gave way, and he found himself being lowered to the ground.

He lay there gasping, waiting for the ache to drain from his legs. Randy was holding him, telling him to calm down. He realised he must've looked terrible; his hair was wild and tangled, he was trembling like crazy and panting heavily.

"Why'd you run away like that?" Asked Randy softly, lightly brushing Phil's hair back into place.

"I-uh-M'sorry..."

"I'm not angry at you Phil,"

"I know. Just... got scared."

"Of me?"

"You _are _pretty scary," Agreed Ted, clambering out of the car.

"Shhhh, they're gonna _do_ stuff," Giggled Cody, pulling him back in.

Randy laughed and shook his head, guiding Phil's head into his shoulder, where it stayed.

"I get angry sometimes," he said, "But I would never hurt you."

Phil looked up into those gray eyes, and where he used to see a cold, mysterious danger he now saw warmth... and love.

"Feels nice," sighed Phil, shivering slightly when the other man began to softly plant kisses along the top of his head. "I could get used to you."


	9. Down To The Waterline: ChipMUNK

**Sooo I'm contradicting myself. But what would you do if you woke up to your PhilMuse jumping on your bed shouting "You have to write this for Kimberly!"**

**Weird cos I don't even really know her, but she's been feeling sad as of late, for whatever reason.**

**Not that this fic is a spoonful of happy rainbows or anything, but at least it's chipMUNK, right?**

*******

_**Your hands are cold, but your lips are warm**_

It's an embarrassing situation, having no money. Everyone's been there – caught in a cafe just short of what you need to pay, stuck at the train station without a way to buy the ticket.

That sort of scenario is in itself uncomfortable. But when you really, really have nothing but the clothes on your back, the humiliation is excruciating. And people are scared of you.

It's a lonely life.

Matt recognised the signs in the young man who came up to him cautiously on the street; pale, skinny and hungry – looking. Dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes suggested extreme exhaustion

_or substance abuse_

and his thin shirt was hardly suitable for the cold winds which were blowing through the street.

"Could you spare a couple of dollars for some food?" he asked, ducking his head awkwardly

"Uh..." _How do you know he's going to use it for food?_

"It's fine, don't worry about it. Have a good day," The man nodded his head briefly and made to go away, but Matt reached out and caught his sleeve.

"No, wait. How about if I get it for you?"

The man's eyes widened slightly and he turned around, looking rather surprised.

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure. C'mon. There's a kebab shop or something just up ahead."

***

The man sat down strangely, easing himself gingerly into the seat with a slight whimper that did not go unnoticed by Matt.

"So, uh, what's your name?"

"Phil," he grunted, wincing a little as he settled into the chair.

"Are you alright?" _wow, stupid question. He's obviously hurt._

"Nothing I can't deal with."

Matt noticed that he slumped forward as he sat, avoiding making contact with his back.

"So, what are you after?"

"Dunno... surprise me?" Phil looked up and gave him a shy smile. Something stirred inside Matt's chest, an inexplicable flutter of affection for the man. It was offset by a slight vibration in his pocket, which he identified as his phone.

_Well shit._

"Matty, where _are_ you, we're waiting!"

"Yeah okay, be there in a sec, Jeff. And stop calling me Matty!"

Phil was avoiding his gaze again – he was more disappointed than he could say, but didn't want to put that kind of guilt on the nice man who wasn't called Matty.

"Look, I'll just get you something but then I gotta go. I'm sorry."

Phil gestured wearily with one hand "That's already more than I could hope for. Thank you."

***

Several months later, and Matt still couldn't help but feel just a little excited when he went out near that street. He would discreetly peer down the alleyways, igniting a tiny spark of hope that perhaps there would be a thin young man who had chosen that spot to rest for awhile. He never lost hope when he was on that street - but to no avail.

It was a surprise then, when he was driving to meet Jeff at a bar one night, that his headlights happened to illuminate a hitchhiker on the side of the road. Matt and Jeff had hitchhiked a few times as teenagers, just for kicks. Jeff had held out his thumb and bounced up and down excitedly on the balls of his feet until someone finally pulled over and took them "as far as you're going," which turned out to be halfway across the state. Gilbert had not been pleased.

The man didn't really look as though hitchhiking was a novelty for him, though. He was swaying on the spot, and his arm was trembling slightly with the effort of keeping it out for so long.

Matt decided to pull over on a whim, but nearly ran the poor man over in surprise.

"Phil!" He shouted, braking just in time. The man in question yelped and tripped over his own feet, landing out of sight of the windscreen.

"I'm sorry!" Called Matt, clambering out of the car to see if he was alright. Phil was trying to pick himself up, with that same tentativeness that Matt remembered. He rushed forward, slipping an arm around the slighter man's waist to help him up, shocked at how light he was. He guided Phil to the car, ignoring the protests that he could manage himself.

"Where're you off to, then?" Asked Matt, finally climbing in himself and starting the car.

Phil just stared straight ahead, "Wherever. Away. Didn't really have a particular destination in mind. I've never really been out of this city."

"Oh, okay then. How about you come out to the bar with me and my brother?"

He flinched at the suggestion, and Matt raised an eyebrow.

"Got a thing against bars?"

"Don't really like alcohol." Came the terse reply. "Straight edge."

"That's okay. We can go somewhere else."

Phil blinked and looked curiously at Matt.

"Are you serious?"

"Huh?"

"You're not going to force feed me some shots and see how I react?"

"What? No?" Matt was a little taken aback at the sudden bitterness in the other man's voice,

"Not going to break the bottle over my head and try stabbing me with it? The human race has an uncanny knack for creating irony."

"Firstly Phil, I'm not going to hurt you. Secondly, where the hell did you learn to speak like that?"

Phil sighed, "I'm not stupid. Just unlucky."

They drove on for a while in silence, just watching the landscape slide past them. Gray cement turned to front lawns, parks, corner stores, which in turn became parks and trees. The narrow snaking roads widened until there was just one long highway which stretched out to the horizon. Matt took his phone out of his pocket and quickly texted Jeff.

_Can't make it, sorry._

_Have fun with Shan._

He glanced over at Phil, who had fallen asleep. He looked like he needed it.

Matt felt that odd flicker of affection again, seeing Phil asleep. His head rested against the window, and his lips were parted slightly. His brow was slightly drawn, as if the troubles of his waking life followed him into slumber and invaded his dreams.

Matt wanted to put the seat down or something so his neck wouldn't hurt when he woke up, and so whispered his name cautiously.

Phil woke up with a jerk, and looked around wildly, his eyes filled with terror. It took a few moments for him to get his bearings, but when he finally remembered where he was, he relaxed again.

"Sorry," He breathed, "I don't think I've slept in a legitimately safe place for a long time."

"S'fine. Just... if you want to sleep, just put the chair down. So you don't hurt your neck."

"Oh. ." he looked out the window again, and gasped.

"Matt! Where are we?"

"No idea. You said wherever."

"Are those _sheep_?"

"Sure as hell aren't Mongolian double-horned vaulting cows."

Phil chuckled, "I've never been this far out of the city. I've seen pictures, though."

"Oh wow, you weren't kidding."

"Nope." He shifted in his seat to get more comfortable, and smiled a little.

"This is nice. It's so beautiful outside the city."

"We'll, I kinda like it there sometimes."

"That's because you don't know it like I do. It shelters you one night, then spits you out onto the sidewalk to fend for yourself the next. And the people that live there don't tolerate people like me."

Matt shivered. The way he spoke... it was like a song, and it stirred a deep longing in his heart. He felt strangely like he wanted to reach over and kiss him.

_Don't be ridiculous_

"It's because I like guys."

"That's ridiculous! I know heaps of people that live close, and none of them have a problem with gay men..."

"Most of them live in houses though, I'd assume?"

Matt fell silent.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty or anything. You just have to understand with me... it's a bit different."

"How'd you end up on the street though?"

"Same reason. My parents didn't like it. They said if I ever brought another man back, I could stop calling their house home. So I left. I wanted to travel and find work and all dreamy stuff like that, but it just didn't work out. Got trapped. Then you came along." His voice trailed off, and a light blush crept into his cheeks.

"I think... even just bringing me out here, you saved me... every time I see green fields and sheep now, I-I'll think of you."

_I always think of you no matter where I am_

"Aw, you're so sweet," Matt's smile widened when he saw him blush further. Then an idea occurred to him, and the grin that seemed to burst out from his very soul nearly split his face in two.

"I know where we're going to go now."

"Yeah?"

"We're going to keep driving until we hit the coast."

Phil positively exploded with sudden excitement.

"The coast? You mean I'll see the ocean?"

"Sure will!"

"And you don't mind taking me so far?"

"Nope. It's something we both need, I think."

"That's... wow." Phil hesitated for a moment, "I-I don't know how I can thank you enough."

"Your company's enough, love." _OH FUCK _"Uh, mate."

Phil chose to overlook the slip in favour of satisfying his curiosity.

"What'll we do when we get there?"

"We go swimming, and get eaten by sharks!" He chuckled when Phil blanched with fear, "I'm kidding!"

"_Matt,"_ Phil whined playfully, then reached over and hugged him.

"Watch the... aw, fuck it." Matt slammed on the brakes, parked the car and claimed Phil's lips. He had obviously been thinking the same thing, because the kiss was eagerly returned.

Tomorrow, they would conquer the world that lay behind the horizon. But for now, they settled for each other.

**Hope you liked it, and I hope you feel better soon ^_^**

**(**_**Can still hear him whisper, let's go down to the waterline)**_


	10. Down To The Waterline 2: JoMoPunk

**Well, I'm off to Hong Kong for a couple of weeks, so there'll be no updates from me for a while! Feel free to request stuff again though, cos I'll still check my email etc ^_^ **

**I know I still have a Randy/Punk one to do for xxAreeshaxx (don't worry, I haven't forgotten XD)**

*******

**Down To The Waterline (version 2)**

"You have an amazing body."

If John had a dollar for every time someone said that to him... well, you know. It fascinated Mike endlessly – his lover would spend hours tracing the contours of his well-defined muscles. Mike knew every inch of John's body. At first, John thought it was wonderful that he and his lover shared such an intimate knowledge of each other, but now it frightened him. The insults had started a few months back; harsh words quickly turned to harsh actions and now John feared the man who knew every inch of his being so well.

His hands.

Despite the seeming perfection of his body, John had the most badly scarred hands out of all the people he knew. It was easy to miss, but close up, little white strands threaded through his skin like delicate skeins of spider silk. Mike said he had old hands. It was true.

_What do you think you're doing going out and provoking everyone like that?_

_Mike, it's my job! Besides, they can all look, but touching's just for you._

_Don't play coy with me, princess. _

_Hey, I can't help it if I'm hot!_

_Well then, maybe I'll just give you an excuse to wear a shirt._

_What? Mike, what are you... Shit, that hurt!  
That's the point, princess._

A lot of the time he had nothing but his hands to defend himself against Mike.

It was his hands that he was studying now as he sat on the hotel roof, looking out at the shadows that were beginning to settle over the city. The continuous rumble of passing traffic was somewhat soothing. Up here with the sky and the cold wind, he felt truly and properly alone. The wind whipped at his shirt, rippling the thin material and sending shivers down his spine. The shirt was Mike's... even when he sought solace from him; a part of him clung to that familiar warm scent, a reminder of earlier, happier days.

_Come over here._

_Mike, not again - I'm so tired..._

_Did I say you could speak?_

_..._

_That's right. And what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger. I love you, you know._

He really was worn out – fear does that to you, it steals your strength and robs you of your sleep. It was fear of Mike and, in a way, fear of himself. Fear of that urge to crawl back after a particularly rough night and beg to be allowed to rest his weary head on Mike's knee, if just for a moment. The rare times Mike told him he loved him brought a strange kind of fleeting joy. Mike knew about it. Mike knew everything. It was frightening.

He longed for it to start raining; maybe then he would feel cleansed, but for now he closed his eyes and took in the meaningless sounds of the city.

_It's the sound of sorrow scratching at my door,_ he thought bitterly. But suddenly, some more coherent sounds began to make their way up the stairs.

"Come on, no-one's going to know! No-one cares about you enough anyway."

"Oh yes thanks for that, Mike. No."

"Don't run from me."

"Mike, you're starting to scare me..."

"I said don't run from me, bitch!"

The door burst open and John quickly darted behind some crates, watching the scene unfold through the slits in the wood. Punk had arrived on the roof. He skidded to a halt, realising he was cornered. Mike's voice rang out from the stairwell.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

Punk ran and slammed the door shut and looked around for something to block it with. The only thing on the roof was these damn crates. He began to pile them up in front of the door, grunting with effort. Mike was still pounding on the door, shouting something unintelligible.

"The hell do they put in these things?" He muttered, turning to grab another one and coming face to face with the terrified John.

"Morrison? What are you doing up here?"

"I j-just... I came up. For a walk."

"Yeah, sure. You know Mike, right? D'you reckon those are enough crates to keep him out?"

John froze, as the words he told himself every night played in his mind over and over. _You can't fight him. Just do what he wants. Just do what he wants._

"Huh?"

"I, uh, yeah it should."

"But you just said we can't fight him!"

"No, I reckon.... It's just me. I can't, but you can. You're not weak like me."

"Okay, cool. What the hell are you talking about?" sigh

John flinched at Punk's angry tone, and looked away with embarrassment. Punk bit his lip nervously and clambered over the last crates to join him. He took the younger man's trembling hands and held them gently.

"I'm sorry. Getting chased up a stairwell by the crazed chick magnet makes me a little tense. Especially when you're not a chick." John smiled a little at this.

"You guys were together, weren't you?"

Mike seemed to have given up, because the pounding had stopped, and John seemed to relax a little.

"We...S-still are."

"You mean you guys are still together?"

John nodded.

"Uhhhh... then why was he trying to come on to _me_?"

Well wasn't the answer obvious? "P-probably s-s-s-sick... o-of-of-" the words seemed to stick in John's throat and dissolve into sobs. Punk pulled him closer and squeezed his shoulder.

"John, if he's hurting you like this, you should leave him."

"Can't," he shook his head like a stubborn child.

"Don't be stupid."

"Stupid..." echoed John

"No, come on. You know what I meant. You're an intelligent man. Leave him." Punk ran his thumb comfortingly over the other man's knuckles, then raised them up to inspect them more closely.

"Wow, these are cut up pretty bad," He traced one particularly long scar that ran between his thumb and forefinger and a little way down his wrist, just like Mike used to do. John inhaled sharply and snatched his hands away.

"Sorry." Said Punk. They were now sitting side by side with their backs to the crates, staring at the gray concrete ledge in front of them. Neither spoke nor made a move. It was getting dark quickly, and John could smell rain on the breeze. Good.

Surely enough, after a few minutes of silence, the rain announced its arrival in a flurry of pattering droplets. At first it was merely a tentative smattering, but it intensified into a freezing deluge which quickly soaked the two men through.

Punk sighed and closed his eyes, raising his chin slightly.

"I love the rain." He murmured.

John did, too. Inside, there were other people that didn't understand. And there was Mike, waiting for them somewhere. But outside, the wind and the rain carried on with blatant indifference to the workings of the tiny humans below. It was just him and Punk. It was a strangely empowering feeling.

"I love the rain too!" John seemed suddenly transformed. He climbed nimbly onto the ledge and stood there, arms open to the water. He raised his head to the rain and laughed at the dark clouds which gathered above him. Lighting cracked through the sky, and he felt a light tug at his shirt.

"Uh, John, you might want to come down... the lightning-"

"Screw it!" Yelled John. "Screw it ALL!" The last word exploded out of his chest as a scream. The fear which he had kept wrapped up inside himself turned to anger and hate, and he had the burning desire to rid himself of it. So he screamed, surrendering it all to the heavens in a powerful, primal yell. He struggled out of the shirt – Mike's shirt – and hurled it off the ledge, snarling somewhat as it tumbled to the sidewalk below. Lightning cracked again, and for a moment the rain intensified, lashing at his bare frame.

Then nothing.

He sagged, panting heavily. Punk was standing a few paces behind him, wide-eyed with shock. John swayed dazedly, and would have toppled from the ledge had Punk not darted forward and grabbed him. John leaned into him, resting his chin on the older man's shoulder. He didn't miss the way Punk traced a finger along his spine, exploring the form of his muscles. He didn't shudder or shrink away this time. The part of him that he feared, the part that longed for Mike's approval seemed to have been tossed over the ledge with the shirt, leaving him strangely empty. He drew closer to Punk, nuzzling into his neck.

"John..." whispered Punk, "I want this as much as you do, but you're still with Mike, and he's still angry..."

"S'fine."

"No, it's not. You were so scared just then!"

"Kiss me."

"Have you gone mad?"

"Yes. Kiss me."

"I don't want you to do something Mike's going to make you regret later."

"Mike Mike Mike. I threw Mike over the ledge with that stupid shirt of his. He can't do anything if it's the both of us. And now," He raised his head to look Punk in the eye, "It's freezing, and you're warm."

**I highly recommend listening to Down To The Waterline by Dire Straits. This fic is based off the feel of the guitar line. **

**I believe the mark of a good song is that you get something new out of it every time you listen to it, and for this one it's definitely true. **


	11. Paper Bag: ChipMUNK

**Well, this is my half of the trade with KimberAnnBRAND. We traded songs instead of pairings (since ChipMUNK is her OTP) and it turned out okay. Well, on her end anyway. **

**My song was Paper Bag by Anna Nalick. I didn't include any of the lyrics in the actual fic, since her way of writing doesn't really go with mine. Also because I dislike being literal.**

**Although you wouldn't be able to tell from this fic. (hides)**

*******

_Part 1: My silence is my self-defence._

"Hey man, thanks for inviting me after, you know, that thing with Jeff."

Matt raised an eyebrow at Phil's statement,

"Dude, it's not like you had another option. Unless you count getting your ass fired."

"Yeah, I suppose..."

"Okay, well, enjoy yourself." Shannon had just pulled in and pulled a huge slab of beer from his car boot, so Matt hurried off to help him. Trust Phil to arrive spot on eight o'clock; most guests at his parties wandered in throughout the night whenever they felt like it. No-one was here yet, and he was just sitting on the couch by himself, sipping at a glass of water.

"Shan, did you get the Pepsi?" asked Matt, kicking the door shut. The younger man scoffed.

"I totally thought you were joking! Who drinks that shit anyway? I mean, apart from Punk, and there's no way he'd show his ugly ass here..." His eyes widened as he caught the expression on Matt's face. "Shit man, you didn't."

"Just... be nice to him, okay? He's had a rough time."

Shannon just rolled his eyes and hoisted the beer onto his shoulder.

Phil never really left the couch all night. It got awkward around midnight when a slightly tipsy Adam and a totally inebriated Christian started making out next to him, oblivious to the raven-haired man leaning away from them and trying to pretend they weren't there. He jumped as a strong hand landed on his shoulder, and turned to look into the cocky grin of Chris Jericho.

"Haven't seen you at one of these before. Enjoying yourself?" He was wavering a little where he stood, and the words were a little slurred and overemphasised, but the meaning behind them was evident.

_Who the fuck invited __you_?

Phil shrugged and half-smiled apologetically. Let them think they have the upper hand, then they won't be as hard on you.

"Jeff hasn't arrived yet."

He nodded that he understood.

"I wonder what he'll do when he sees you?"

Phil kept his trap shut, but inside he was fuming. He had talked to the Hardys, both of them, apologised although it wasn't really his fault.

"Hey hey, if it isn't little Punkers." Cena made his way over to them, smirking at Chris as he did so.

"How's everything?"

Phil shrugged again. What a shitty conversation starter.

"Not very responsive, is he?"

"Nah, it's just a way to get attention. Acting all emo so we'll notice you're different. Yeah man, we noticed. And it's shit." Chris chuckled and ruffled Phil's hair, lingering for a moment to properly caress those shiny black strands.

_Get out of my fucking hair, _thought Phil angrily, but outwardly he simply lowered his eyes.

The two of them left, leaving Phil once again to his own thoughts.

Part 2: Don't let them win

If someone tells you something enough times, you can begin to doubt yourself, and start to believe what they say.

There were many people at that party, most of them drunk, which has a tendency to bring out words that would otherwise remain hidden as secret thoughts. Consequently, Phil found out that night that a lot of people hated him, or at least held him in contempt. Great night out.

Eventually, when Mike and John claimed the spot on the other side of him (Adam and Christian still showed no sign of leaving each other's mouths alone), Phil just got up and left. Part of him wished someone would see him depart and follow him, but quickly dismissed the hope as futile.

Matt had a massive backyard, and he just walked around for a while before settling beneath a particularly large tree. He thanked god he had the blackness to hide him as he buried his head and his hands and began to weep silently.

"You know, Jeff broke his arm falling out of that tree once."

A bolt of fear exploded in Phil's chest, and he looked around wildly in the dark to see who had spoken. Well, he knew it was Matt, but where was he? There was a shuffling sound, and a hand reached out, groping at Phil's face.

"Mmmmph..." he growled, batting the hand away before the fingers went up his nose.

"Sorry. About everything... I didn't think everyone was still this hostile."

Phil said nothing, instead he drew his knees up to his chin protectively.

"You just can't tell these people," sighed Matt, settling down next to Phil and pulling him gently closer. The slighter man struggled at first, growling at him to go away. But Matt grabbed his wrist, slipped one arm around his waist and brought the two of them together with a determined heave. As soon as their bodies made contact though, Phil seemed to melt into him.

"You just sort of... you have to show them. Bide your time. Lay low for a while. You could even stay here with me."

"No, I couldn't-"

Phil felt Matt's fingers trail up his arm, then bury themselves in his hair. It felt nice, and he let out a soft note of thanks.

"You can. Then, when people have found another meaningless pursuit to gossip about, you'll be able to show everyone what you're made of. I'll help you."

"You'll stay with me?"

Strong arms wrapped around Phil's shoulders and a pair of lips were pressed to his.

"I'll take that as a yes..."


End file.
